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lucyandthepen · 5 months ago

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get you alone | ljn ( m )

ideally, jeno should have his hands full with teaching. (un)fortunately, he only seems to have his head full of you.

pairing: tutor!jeno x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings & tags: jeno is a college algebra math tutor & reader is failing, written in lapslock, not beta’d in any shape or form so please excuse mistakes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), piv, oral (f!receiving), use of pet names (kitten, angel, sweetheart), praise, reader calls jeno ‘sunbae’ until she doesn’t, size kink i guess if u squint! word count: 8.5k

a/n : actually this was written for a different fandom but i’ve decided to make it a jeno fic bc idk why not! first time writing in a different perspective so it’s a bit odd for me & i can't say i fw with this style nor am i particularly proud of this fic but she is ... sumn! also i fear i have a thing for the math tutor trope but that’s neither here nor there AHA enjoy !!

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

there wasn’t anything special about your case; at least, that’s what jeno had thought when he picked up your request before he met you. before he met you, you were just another student trying to demystify the painfully enigmatic art of getting through college algebra. before he met you, he had already tagged this case as another charity stint — a good way to get brownie points with the dean’s office and the mathematics and natural sciences department. in fact, thinking of all his tutoring cases as community service made them somewhat palatable, if not a little forgettable. he was quite sure, at the time, that you’d be in and out — both of the tutoring center and his memory. such was the case with most of his other tutees, anyway.

he hadn’t expected you to be… well, you — a pretty little thing, with your sweet smile and your wide doe eyes. on the first day, you’d stood out; you’d arrived at the tutoring center’s lobby in a short dress, knit cardigan, and coquettish makeup, as if every fiber of your being were bidding the spring a solid farewell. multiple heads had turned, including his, as you came up to the front desk and asked for one lee jeno for college algebra. you were eager for summer, jeno had learned as you broke the ice little by little, in part because you looked forward to visiting okinawa with your family, but also because you were eager to get your first semester out of the way. that much, you had in common with most of his other students — almost all of the ones seeking help in college algebra only took it as a depressing core requirement of whatever degree they were doing. you, specifically, were focusing on fashion design; that very vividly explained your attention to your looks. this mathematics class was a thorn in your side, a mandatory thing that was simply supposed to get you through later business-oriented classes in your degree program. for jeno, however, college algebra had become the perfect excuse from the moment he’d laid eyes on you.

the more time he spends with you, the more he thinks you’re exactly his taste. it starts off with little things he finds attractive, things he picks up while he’s watching you fill out the practice sheets he’s prepared for you on quadratic equations or while trying to get you to understand logarithms — your neat, tiny handwriting, almost like print; your habit of boxing your final answers in firm strokes, even if they’re hopelessly wrong; your colored tabs, cascading down the page side of your textbook. but as the weeks wear on, he sees all the little things in between — the way your long eyelashes quiver when you stop and close your eyes as you think for the answer, the upturn of your plush lips when you have the same answer on the practice sheet as he does, the deepening of your artificial blush with a natural hue when you realize you don’t know the answers to his gentle questions. he notices that you refuse to wear anything longer than a knee-length skirt despite the still-strong winds, notices that your tiny palms are always smooth and pink, that your hair always smells of coconut milk. these are things he can’t help but jot down in his memory — that was exactly what you were, after all: memorable.

and the more he remembers about you, the more jeno wants you. yet he’s never made a move, never given so much as a hint of his interest, not only because there are prying eyes all around the building but also because you have never so much as shown a smidge of desire back. in fact, he has to wonder if you’ve ever thought of him in a different capacity — not as a tutor, but as a man. if you have, you’ve never made that obvious; you always talk to him respectfully, the little wall you’ve erected between the both of you remaining steady, and you never let your eyes linger on his face for longer than it takes for him to explain what you don’t know. jeno has had his fair share of female students, and in all of them, he’s seen the same kind of hunger — to few, he’s catered to their whims, if only to pass the time, if only for his own benefit. but you, with your ribbons in your hair and your sweet, sweet mouth, have never once shown that same kind of desire.

he doesn’t know if it frustrates him, but he does know one thing — it makes him want you all the more.

he wants you even now, as you sit across from him, dolled up as usual. even now, as your eyes take on a glassy sheen of defeat, your cheeks puffing out in the way that tells him you’re admonishing yourself once again, he craves you — maddeningly so. and he realizes that it doesn’t really matter if you're not the one to fall first, as long as he can still have you.

“time out,” you beg, your fingers meeting the palm of your hand to signal a break. “my brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“you just had a break ten minutes ago,” jeno reminds you, though there’s a lighthearted amusement to his voice that makes you smile sheepishly. “at this rate, you’ll be on more breaks than you’ll be taking the time to actually learn.”

“i’m trying,” you groan, your fingers curling against your forehead as you bump your head against your fist. “i just don’t think i’m cut out for this polynomial whatever — trial and error bullshit.”

“you’ll hate me for saying this — but you’ll never know unless you keep trying.”

“funny.” your sigh rustles the papers in front of you gently. “how do you do it, sunbae?”

“hm?”

“you’re not only good at this stuff, but you’re so good you’re able to take the time to teach people like me.”

“strengths and weaknesses — it’s the natural way of the world.” jeno smiles gently at you, and he notes how his chest feels tighter when you return the sentiment shyly. “i could never do what you’re doing in your own degree, try as i might. anyway, you’ll get there. i won’t let you become my first ever failed project, you know.”

“i wouldn’t want to let you down either, sunbae, but—” the back end of your pencil taps lightly against the surface of the table. “it just feels hopeless. i can’t focus on anything. it’s so… so abstract, and everyone here is talking all at once, and i don’t even know what i’m ever going to get out of this class in the long run.”

even when you’re dejected, you look pretty; your bottom lip juts out naturally when you whine like this, and for a moment, jeno can’t say anything in response. he’s too busy wondering what your mouth would feel like on his — on him. when he snaps himself out of his brief reverie, he notices you’re looking around at everyone else — and he has to agree that with the noise level in this whole building, it isn’t the most conducive site for learning, especially when the learner is already so averse to the subject matter.

“i can’t help much in the way of it being too abstract,” he says kindly. “but it’s not a requirement for us to have our sessions here. i know it can be quite distracting, all these voices flying around, so why don’t you look for a place that better suits you, and we can start meeting there instead? the more comfortable you are in your environment, the better you’ll be able to absorb the material, i’m sure.”

“you think?” your pencil comes to a slow halt as you refocus on him, a thoughtful light glimmering behind your gaze. “yeah — yeah, i actually wouldn’t mind that. then, i’ll look for a different place for us to meet, and we can start there next week. how does that sound?”

“whatever suits you suits me,” he responds easily.

he lowers his gaze immediately after you flash him a blinding grin; there are far too many people here, as you both very well know, and if he keeps looking at you and your pretty little expressions any longer, he might just give them something to actually look at.

it had been your idea, not his, so why did jeno feel like he’d dragged you into a compromising situation?

you’d texted him over the weekend that your search for a new venue had been absolutely fruitless; every cafe and study space you’d been to was either too expensive or equally as packed with people, if not both. jeno had seen the preview to your message, but he hadn’t been prepared for what it read out in full when he’d actually opened it.

sunbae, would it be too difficult to just meet at my apartment? i attached a map, so let me know!

it wouldn’t be too difficult; logistics-wise, it was walking distance from campus and almost directly across the train station he takes home. it also definitely promised an environment you were comfortable in, and you wouldn’t have to worry about excess noise from any other tutoring groups. no, the difficulty really only lied in himself — you two, all alone, would certainly mean his mind would be up to no good for the two hours every monday, wednesday, and thursday you would be together.

but for your sake, he’d try to rein it in, with the operative word being try.

your place is as neat and as pretty as you are; he doesn’t know if you’ve cleaned up for him, or if you’re naturally this organized, but he likes it all the same. it smells of toasted marshmallow and expensive perfume, and all your furniture matches. jeno supposes he likes that in a woman — someone able to care for herself, someone who cares about herself. and you’re always just as neat and pretty to match, with your hair always styled sweetly, your makeup always enhancing your features.

the problem is that now that he’s in here, where you live, and where you spend most of your time, jeno’s mind seems to wander too much towards thoughts about what you do in private. he rejects studying on the couch, not just because it’s bad for posture and concentration but also because he can’t help but imagine you pressed into the cushions by his hand. he suggests the small dining table you have, but on the second meeting at your place, he starts thinking about what you might look like seated on the table, your ass hanging over the edge and his face buried between your thighs. whenever you look up to ask him something, he drinks in your lovely, made-up face again, and starts wondering what your makeup would look like ruined before he interrupts that trainwreck of a thought with the answer to your question.

by the end of the week, jeno’s defenses are all but shot, and he realizes that this situation might be optimal for you, but it definitely isn’t doing him and his now constantly straining cock any great favors.

he supposes that your performance has somewhat improved; you’re less likely to trail off when you’re thinking and can actually do practice sets for a lot longer without all the noise and hubbub around you. your only real hindrance is yourself and your frustration; you have a habit of giving into your carelessness that sends you spiraling into despair, and it doesn’t help that when you press your cheek against the surface of your dining table and whine, the comfort jeno offers is noticeably delayed because he’s too busy thinking about his cock between your lips.

“my dad’s going to kill me if i fail this midterm,” you grumble, stabbing the practice sheet with your pencil; it skids sideways, and jeno robotically fixes it back into proper alignment for you, careful not to brush against the arm that’s folded inwards, supporting your chin. “he only agreed to let me take this degree because of the business aspect of it. as if i’ll need to know about—” you check the header of the worksheet. “domain and range when i’m doing actual design work.”

“you’ll never know what might be useful later on in life. i definitely thought this was nonsense back in high school — and then i got this job.”

“and now you’re rolling in dough?” you smile slightly. jeno chuckles.

“i’m a long way away from having myself a scrooge mcduck golden pool, but i make enough to get by very comfortably, thanks to this.”

“thanks to me, you mean.”

“you’re not my only student,” he snorts, pinching your elbow; you cry out exaggeratedly. “focus up. the hour’s almost over, and you should have finished with this much earlier.”

“can you leave it as homework?”

“not a chance.”

you blow out a sharp puff of air. “my mom used to do this thing where she’d give me rewards if i did well with my homework. i wish i’d still get something out of this.”

“what kind of rewards did she give you?”

“chocolates — candy, or sometimes we’d go out for milk tea together, if i did a particularly good job.”

“this is math tutoring, not a trip to the dentist,” jeno says, amused.

“a trip to the dentist would be more enjoyable,” you mutter under your breath, picking up your pencil and doodling an angry face next to the number you’re only halfway through solving. “this totally blows.”

“try to finish this before the hour’s up, and i’ll see if i can get you something nice. out of my own paycheck,” he stresses, prodding at your cheek to shift your attention back to the paper. he doesn’t miss the fact that your eyes light up, childish as the promise is.

he doesn’t know if that’s really what motivates you, but you do manage to finish the worksheet with a few minutes to spare before the clock hits seven, and that earns you some light, solo applause. it isn’t much by way of true praise, but you flush with pride all the same. jeno packs his things in silence as you get yourself a glass of water, and you see him to the door. only there does he notice your eager eyes, your expectant smile.

“what’s going through that pretty little head of yours?”

“are you really going to give me a reward? i did great today, you know,” you respond bluntly.

“you were serious about that?” he laughs.

“absolutely. i earned it.” you raise a slim finger, wagging it in his face. he trails it with his gaze, no shortage of amusement in his eyes. “next monday, i want something sweet.”

jeno takes in the sight of you, keeping your door open with your hip; he wonders if you know what you’re doing to him, what you’re asking of him — if you even know there’s nothing that could possibly be sweeter than you at this very moment. he drinks in the sight of your feigned haughty expression on your pretty features, the unnervingly low dip of your tank top, the tempting hemline of your shorts, and feels like you must be aware of what he’s going to do next.

“if it’s something sweet you want, you don’t have to wait until next week.”

he does it before he can think it through — surely, there’s nothing too harmful about a quick kiss? he angles your chin upward with his thumb and forefinger before you can even react to his words, and he tastes you like that for the first time. you’re just as soft and as sweet as he’d imagined, if not more so.

when jeno pulls away, you step back; there’s shock written all over your face, your mouth still hanging open slightly. your voice is gentle, shaky when you start speaking.

“sunbae, wha—”

“see you next week. rest up over the weekend, or there’ll be consequences.”

he finds it easy to joke with you now, even after what he’s done — finds it easy to wave goodbye with nonchalance as he walks to the elevator, now that he’s gotten one thing out of his system. the look on your face, the growing blush across the bridge of your nose and your temples is indication enough for jeno to feel confident — if you hadn’t thought about him that way before, you were sure to spend the next few days doing exactly that.

it’s exactly a week before your midterm exam, and jeno notices you’re less than focused.

he’d let you stew over the weekend, not expecting much by way of communication; indeed, his phone hadn’t once been jostled by your texts. he’d taken that silence to assume that you’d been wrapped up in thoughts of the kiss he’d left you with, and you did not disappoint on that front; the next monday saw you fidgety, flushed, and constantly faltering in your words. you asked less questions, which normally indicated a problem, but today, he’d let it slide; you definitely had a little too much on that pretty little brain of yours.

he notices you’re still dolled up — your eyelids are shimmery, and your lips are glossy; you’re wearing a tennis skirt that hits all the right buttons for him, too. it’s true that you’re always pretty well-dressed and put together, but today somehow feels different. if before, jeno had always seen you dressed up simply to look good, today it feels a little more like you’re dressed up to look good for him. he knows it’s a little bit egotistical to assume as much, but he also doesn’t miss the side glances you throw at him when you think he’s not looking at you answering your textbook or the way your cheeks glow when you make the slightest bit of eye contact.

still, you try to focus as much as you can; it’s adorable, in fact, to see all your valiant efforts to appear unperturbed. he figures he’ll play along for as long as you will — what matters to him, after all, is that you’re in the game to begin with. you complain less today, focus on your worksheets, and jeno even manages to witness the sight of your forehead creasing up as you concentrate on a particularly difficult item. you’re adorable, in the kind of way that makes him want to pin you down and have his way with you.

you finish your work without a fuss today; you only actually asked for his help twice, which was a feat in and of itself. and again, when the session is over, you walk him to the door.

this time, when you linger, he waits; you’re clearly not good at hiding your true intentions, as it’s become clear you have something you want to say. as you try to piece your thoughts together, jeno reaches into his backpack’s front pocket and extracts today’s gift — an actual chocolate bar, albeit a rather run of the mill one.

“what’s this?” you ask, your thought process clearly derailed as confusion takes over your features.

“your reward. for a good job last week and today — you said you wanted one, didn’t you?”

“but i thought—” you stop yourself, your mouth opening and closing, suddenly wordless. jeno grins.

“not good enough? i picked that up from a convenience store on my way here, so it definitely isn’t anything special, but i thought it would at least be a good motivator.”

you’re turning red, and there’s turmoil in your eyes — he enjoys this, he realizes, the way he flusters you. if he had known this would be the result, he would have made a move much sooner. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, obviously weighing out your options too. finally, you say, “alright.”

“you seem disappointed.”

“i’m not.”

“i’ll get you a better brand next time, if you really don’t like it.”

“it’s not that.”

“so what is it?” he doesn’t expect you to say it, and you don’t defy expectations; your bottom lip just quivers, and jeno chuckles low under his breath, stepping forward just past your doorway, just a little bit closer to you. “don’t tell me you wanted something completely different?”

you don’t say so, but he knows; he can tell by the way you tilt your head back, the way your lips part slightly, the gloss still trailing along the seam. he can tell by the way your torso arches just a little bit closer, almost like an accident. he can tell by the way your eyes bore into his, almost pleading.

“what you did last week…” you start, but your voice trails off into nothing soon after. he chuckles again.

“ah, that. i might have gotten ahead of myself.”

“was that all?” you press.

“and what would you do, if it wasn’t?”

“well — do you always like to play games?”

“i have a penchant for playing with my food before i eat it, if that answers your question.” he smiles down at your still-reddening face. “i was giving you a reward, as you wanted. i came up short on options then and there. you’ll let it slide this once, won’t you?”

“you did that just because i did well last week?”

“of course.”

“well, i did well today, too.”

“you did, and that’s why you have this.” he gestures to the chocolate bar in your hand.

“i don’t want this.” your voice is stubborn now, heated and frustrated, and you stuff the chocolate back into his hand. you must not like having to ask for something so blatantly — it’s too bad jeno wants to hear it in those exact words.

“tell me what you really want, then.”

you’re still unable to find the words, but your hands do the talking for you; they press into his shoulders and give you leverage to tiptoe until you’re just close enough to his lips. but you don’t close that gap, your mouth quivering only inches away from his, and oh, jeno wants to toy with you, but you’re just too irresistible this close to him. his warm palms press against your jaw, keeping your face steady as he closes the gap, and this time, he doesn’t just get a brief taste of you — jeno claims your lips with the thirst of a man who’s stumbled upon an oasis in the desert.

you must have thought about this moment long and hard over the weekend, because the nonchalant side of you that’s turned a blind eye to him is completely gone; he drinks in your soft noises and short, breathless gasps — all signs of your eagerness — until he’s drunk on the taste of you. the deeper the kiss gets, the less you can keep up, but you try, and jeno always likes rewarding your efforts, his wide tongue taut and flush against your tiny one in the sweet, warm cavern of your mouth. he licks every inch of it, leaves the mild nicotine taste of himself there, before he pulls away slowly. your eyes are still closed when he creates distance, fluttering open in a happy haze a few seconds later.

“good enough for you?” he murmurs, tucking a soft lock of hair behind your ear. you hum in assent through your dazed smile, and jeno knows he won’t be the only one looking forward to this coming wednesday.

you’d done really well today.

jeno’s proud of you — prouder than he’s been of most of his students in his career here at the university, actually. you’d finally answered a worksheet almost perfectly, save for a couple of numbers where you’d forgotten to round up, and those things are absolutely negligible at this point (by his books, anyway). you’ve been on your best behavior yet, avoiding all forms of complaint, and he knows fully well why, but he won’t criticize you for your hard work all the same, no matter the motivation behind it.

in fact, you’ve done so good that he doesn’t wait until he’s about to leave to give you your sweet reward — which is why, twenty minutes before he’s meant to go, he’s got you on your couch, your legs spread, each one hooked over his shoulders.

truth be told, you’d been good way before the lesson had started; you’d answered the door in a crop top and the tiniest pair of shorts you’ve dared to wear yet — all clothes that you couldn’t yet wear outside yet, given the weather. selfishly, jeno is thankful for this fact, and if he had to list down other things he’s thankful for, just off the top of his head, it’s that you no longer meet in the tutoring center and that your apartment’s walls seem thick and well-reinforced.

“sunbae, don’t tease me.” your silly little whining voice makes its first appearance of the day, but all jeno does is smile — it’s an almost wicked expression, set firmly between your thighs. “you said i did really well today. don’t tell me you’re backing out on rewarding me?”

“not at all, sweetheart,” he hums, pressing a small kiss to your inner thigh. he likes seeing you shiver at the contact, likes the way you’re chewing on your lip in what appears to be slight agitation. “just thinking of how much of a reward you deserve.”

in all honesty, jeno would like to take every bit of you now; you’re already so ready for him, anyway. he can smell the faint perfume of your arousal, can see the way you’re anticipating the most from him, and a part of him doesn’t want to deny you of that. the larger part of him has dreamed of burying his cock into you, anyway, and why wouldn’t he do that? but something also tells him to wait — or, rather, to make you wait, to make you want him just a little more.

and so, he decides.

his mouth finds your skin again, pressing kisses up your thigh; they get wetter, hotter as his mouth moves up, until his nose and lips are buried against your clothed core. you squirm in response, but his grip on your thighs keeps you relatively steady, even as his tongue presses against thin fabric. the wet muscle pushes sharp against your tiny entrance, the tip meeting slight resistance against your shorts and panties, but he finds a way, burying half his tongue in alongside damp cloth.

you’re already wet like this, and so needy that it might be possible for jeno to get you off just like this, still clothed, but the hunger in him spikes once you call out to him.

“sunbae, please…”

with a groan, his fingers yank the fabric aside, exposing your pussy to the warmth of his breathing. it’s as pink, as pretty, as tiny as the rest of you, as fuckable as he’d imagined it would be, and he wastes no time in pressing his tongue flat against your folds, dragging it up in a wide, messy stripe; the muscle only tenses when it bumps against your clit, his tongue flicking upwards to tease it.

you’re so reactive, even at the slightest things — you whimper, you squeeze your eyes shut, you squirm. you’re begging to be fucked, and jeno’s cock is strained tight against his jeans, but your taste is so addicting that he can’t help but dive back in. his tongue eases between your folds now, spreading them apart until they’re lewd and sticky with his saliva, and the nub of your clit has grown so pronounced now — so pert and lovely that he can’t help but purse his lips around it and suck with excess force.

“sunbae — f—fuck,” you mewl; you almost sound tearful. “f—feels so good…”

jeno wants to tell you how fucking good you taste, how beautiful the sounds you’re making are, but his mouth is too busy; his teeth rake down your cunt lightly, earning him a jerk of your hips, and he has to place pressure down on your thighs again to make sure you’re still enough for him to slip his tongue into your cunt.

he can tell even just by that how tight you’d be around him; your walls are warm around his tongue, and there’s a pressure against the muscle that tells him how good it’d feel for his cock to take its place. as if to simulate his desires, he presses his tongue deeper in, fucks you shallowly with its wetness until your whimpers become little sobs, broken and choked back. his thumb drags across your slit then settles against your clit, and he can feel the thrum of your pulse against the pad of his finger, beckoning him. he complies, easily, thumb tracing circles around the nub that start off slow, only for him to ramp up the pace alongside his tongue.

you’re easily at fault for that; the way you whine for him, call him sunbae, tell him how good it feels over and over — why wouldn’t he want more of you?

he’s not sure which of you really earns the sweet reward today; you cum on his tongue, your cunt trembling against his mouth and your fingers threaded into his hair, but he’s the one who comes out licking his lips like he’s had the best treat of his damn life.

come the middle of next week, jeno finds himself face to face with a test paper — one already clearly marked, with a number circled on the top-right corner. ninety. a stellar grade for anyone, and especially for you.

you know it, and you look absolutely triumphant; you’re practically shining as you perch on your little dining table, your perfectly manicured finger jabbing at the score in emphasis.

“flying colors, wouldn’t you say?”

“color me impressed,” jeno replies smoothly, a genuine smile of pride tugging at his lips; he turns the page over, scanning your responses. you still draw your parabolas a little on the small side, making them a bit difficult to discern, and you’ve still got the habit of not rounding your answers up, but this is tremendous work, and he’ll be the first to praise you for it. “your dad must be filled to the brim with joy now, right?”

“i haven’t told him yet. you were the first.”

“well, i’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

“proud enough to give me a reward?”

he looks down at you in feigned thoughtfulness. here you sit, back in your little tennis skirt, looking up at him with hopeful eyes under those long, curled lashes. for someone who spent the first half of this semester acting ostensibly nonchalant, you’d very easily shown your true colors soon after — not that he really minds. in fact, he’s taken a decided kind of liking to how eager and willing you’ve come to be.

“we’ve only just started our session, though,” he hums out, an idle thumb grazing his chin as he watches your expression turn from bright to cloudy, the beginnings of strategy darkening your gaze. it’s not like he wants to say no; he has no real intention to. but seeing you squirm in want makes him feel good about his decision to hold out a little longer — never mind the ache in his cock even then. “don’t we usually leave the rewards for a later time?”

“i was thinking — since it’s the start of a new lesson —”

“we wouldn’t want you falling behind from the start, would we?”

“i promise i won’t,” you pout. “i promise i’ll put in my best effort next time.”

“next time? sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re thinking to get off scot-free today…” jeno trails off, his hand falling to the nearest surface it can reach — which, logic seems to dictate, is your soft, milky thigh. he feels you tense under his palm, and he bites back a smile, keeping his expression level. “i just don’t know.”

your small hands grip at the front of his shirt, and he hears you, for the first time, doing something he’s always wanted to hear you do.

“please, sunbae?”

how could he say no to you? he hadn’t really planned on it, had only wanted to see you do this, but it’s still too much and beyond his expectation — your misty gaze, your quivering lip. it’s almost laughable that you don’t think he’d notice the way you shift yourself so that his hand, still warm against your thigh, slides up your skin, the hem of your skirt bunched up in the junction between his thumb and forefinger.

jeno chuckles — isn’t this exactly where and how he’s always wanted you? “how could you ask me like that and expect me to refuse, angel? in that case, i have no real choice but to dedicate all our time today to your reward.”

your breathing hitches — in anticipation, in desire, in excitement — as his hand continues its trail upward, deliberately now, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. his head dips down, rests into the crook of your neck, and he inhales the thick, sweet scent of your perfume, your shampoo, of you and all that he’ll take from you.

“just remember, you asked for this,” he murmurs against your skin. “so i’m going to take every bit of you until there’s nothing left for anyone else.”

you’re so willing, so ready even before he can get his full bearings; your hips are rising slightly off the table, and jeno feels like it’s you that’s telling him to move faster. he tugs down your panties, letting gravity take its course until they’re a tiny puddle of fabric on the floor, and he slots himself between your legs. like this, you have no choice but to spread, and you do so without hesitation, your knees locking against his sides as he pulls you in for a tight, hungry kiss. there’s that taste of you he loves, that clean, sweet buzz that draws him in, and his hands are bruisingly tight on your waist as he reclaims your lips.

you already look dazed when he pulls away, which is always cute, but a little unfair — jeno wants you to be aware still when he takes you, and damn, if he doesn’t want to take you right fucking now. he kisses you again, harder and more demanding, as if willing your attention back to him, while his hands explore you — run up your thighs, fingers brushing against the plush curve of your ass. it’s not enough, not by a long shot, and he’s pushing the waistline of your skirt up your stomach with his hands, letting his warmth transfer onto your skin; he chuckles as your stomach sucks inward at his touch, just as you let out a gasp against his lips.

and he wants desperately to hear that noise again; in fact, he wants to know what you sound like in every capacity. his mouth works down your neck, pleased to find that suckling wet and languid on a spot just above your collarbone has you writhing and whimpering. are you sensitive or touch-starved? whatever the reason, he wants to draw all of that out of you, his hands drawing back down to hook under your thighs. jeno drags you to the edge of the table, until your bare cunt is flush against the front of his jeans, and he lets you feel him — a brief tease of what’s to come.

“i’m s—so wet already,” you whisper, as if he doesn’t know — as if you know it’s exactly what he wants to hear anyway. “sunbae, please, i need you.”

“not that,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your collarbone as he speaks. “not sunbae. jeno. call me jeno, angel.”

“jeno,” you exhale shakily, and it’s music to his ears — as if the last thing holding him back from you had shattered.

“that’s it — what a good girl,” he purrs, his hips rocking forward against your pussy before they retract, leaving just enough space for his hand to slip between. slender fingers trail down your folds, sticky and slick. “you are all wet for me, aren’t you? ready to take me deep inside?”

even the way you nod, a tiny movement of assent, drives him wild, yet a part of him still wants to test the limit of your patience, his middle finger stretching to circle your entrance.

“wouldn’t want to shock your tiny little pussy, though, would i? will you let me stretch you out first, kitten?”

“yes,” you mewl, sounding almost tearful. “anything— anything, please.”

jeno drinks in the long, drawn-out keen you set free when his digit sinks into you; he’s already felt your walls against his tongue, but a small part of him is still surprised at just how tight you are. that same part nags that he might not fit easily into you, but whatever that voice is is easily drowned out by a more assertive promise — he’ll make it fit.

“can’t tell you how much i’ve wanted to feel your pretty little hole around my cock,” he presses on, his finger pushing deeper in; he feels you tense a delicious kind of tightness, as if it’s almost too much for you. is it? “ever since that first day you came into the tutoring center, dressed up all cute — did you do that on purpose, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you admit, breathless; the syllable is lengthened into a weak moan as jeno pumps his finger into you, slow, deep strokes that tease your tacky walls open. “wanted — wanted to make a good impression…”

“and you did, didn’t you? kept looking so sweet for me, so pretty every single time — got me thinking about all the ways i wanted to have you. got me so fucking hard every time we’d meet — is that what you wanted?”

jeno doesn’t give you much room to respond, but he can make his own answers to appease himself anyway; he reclaims your lips, already eager for another taste of you, and you comply with the same amount of desire, your soft whimpers melting against his teeth. in the space of pseudo silence, wet, messy noises, he manages to tease another digit into you, and you cry out against his lips as it pushes in, joining the first in how deep it reaches. he absorbs that too, takes in every minute sound you make, relishes the way you pulse around his fingers. even without the noises, he can tell your pleasure’s heightening, with the way you clench around him, your hips rocking pitifully as you’re eager to rut against his palm.

“look at you now.” he’s selfish, but he doesn’t care — he wants to ruin you, and if the telltale squelch of your cunt as he fucks his fingers into it isn’t indication enough, then the way your mouth hangs open as he pulls away, letting his name fall freely from your lips, definitely is. “legs spread, all desperate to feel good for me. what a needy little kitten you are. this good enough for you, angel?”

you shake your head, only to squeal as he pulls you closer, his fingers shoving deeper into you; your hips are re-angled, allowing him to brush the pads of his digits against the rough, sweet spot, and he feels triumph bloom in his chest as you throw your head back, teary eyes squeezed shut.

“no, no, no,” you babble, and he can see the bob of your throat as you swallow hard, clutching at sense to make words. “want — need your cock, want to cum on your cock so badly, jeno — want you to fuck me, stretch me open, please —”

“greedy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, leaning in to nip at the spot he’d left reddened above your collarbone. “go on then — show me how much you want it. show me what a good girl you are, and cum on my fingers.”

“but—”

“come on, angel,” he urges above the squelching noises, increasing surely in volume. his fingers meet resistance when they spread apart inside you, but all it does is create a delicious friction that has you squirming in his hold. “don’t hold back. let me see you fall apart.”

and you do, so prettily, your eyes rolling back and your voice unrestrained. jeno’s fingers ride you through your orgasm, pumping deep and steady despite how slick you’ve gotten, your juices coating his hand and wrist. he watches the flush rise to your neck, stopping at your cheeks, watches the heaving of your chest, the shine of your skin from a thin sheen of sweat, and he doesn’t want to let you come down from this high, but his cock is aching — practically bursting from his jeans — and all he can do is make the silent vow that the next time you look like this, he’ll be balls deep in you.

“that’s my girl,” he coos gently, watching the tension slip from your shoulders; his free hand is at the small of your back quickly, easing you down as your torso falls back, and you’re laying on the table. “pretty little thing, aren’t you? cumming so sweetly for me.”

“jeno,” you groan out weakly, your tiny hand clasping around his wrist. “cock — i want your cock, please—”

“can’t wait?” he’s indecent for sounding amused, but even that does nothing to stay his arousal; how eager you are simply makes him want you all the more. “okay, angel — since you asked so nicely.”

a slight twinge of disappointment runs through him as he pulls his fingers out, but it’s quickly buried by the feeling he gets once he gives you a clear sweep of a once-over; how slutty you look, still half-dressed but already half-ruined, your thighs shaking in an effort to keep them open for him, the remnants of your last climax still leaking out of your hole. the sight of you has him so distracted that unbuttoning and unzipping his pants feels like a fever dream of an act; he barely notices what he’s doing until he’s already bare in front of you, and alertness has crawled halfway back into your consciousness as you push yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

“it’s so—” you have the decency to blush, though there’s a pleased look on your face that tells him you’re not really embarrassed. “i didn’t think you’d be this big.”

“does that worry you?”

“i’ve never had anyone… this big.” pride blooms in his chest — good, he thinks, because if he can’t be as memorable as your first, then he’ll take being the most in something as a prize. “i don’t think — will it fit?”

“does it matter?” he chuckles, and your blush deepens. “no matter what — you’ll take all of me in, won’t you?”

you chew on your bottom lip, as if considering your options, but to jeno, there’s really only one choice — the correct one, and you make it when you nod your head.

“it’ll feel good, though, you know,” he muses. his hand wrapped around his base, he lines himself up with you, the tip grazing against your folds. “even better than just now.”

with just a little more pressure, he has his shaft flush against you; his girth sits against your slit, the tip pressed against your clit, and he starts to rock his hips — into his fist, against your cunt. your hips quiver, and a shiver runs through you as your pleasure spikes again, but he can tell it isn’t enough. your bottom lip is back between your teeth, and your eyes are flitting between his face and his cock. jeno reaches out, eases your lip out from between your teeth, strokes it gently, almost tenderly.

“say it,” he commands in a soft, silky voice.

“fuck me, jeno,” you breathe out, barely missing a beat. “fuck me, fuck my pussy, please.”

and if you ask that desperately, he’ll waste no time; he draws his hips back, dragging his cock down until he’s aligned with your entrance. his eyes are trained on your face, even when he pushes in, so that he can take in your expression — the widening of your eyes as his tip breaches the first wave of resistance, the way your mouth falls agape as his fingers dig hard into your flesh. he’s never seen a prettier sight in his life.

“stretched you out already, but you’re still so fucking tight,” his voice is a soft, melodious croon, a stark contrast to the way he’s forcing past your tightness. “tight and wet, like a good girl.”

“so big,” you whimper, your fingers stretched far enough to tickle the front of his shirt. “can’t — can’t take it.”

“of course you can, angel.” jeno doesn’t give you the time to brace yourself fully before he’s rocking his hips in a little more sharply, his cock now halfway into you. your fingers curl into a little fist, immediately flying back to block the noise from your mouth. “ah ah. don’t get shy on me now; you’ve been so noisy for me all this time.”

but he doesn’t really mind the way you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your high-pitched squeal as he thrusts in fully, the adjustment period after the last movement close to nothing; he’s too busy focusing on how good you feel around him, how warm and wet your insides are. this is heaven, easily, and jeno wants to stay here for as long as he can.

“god, you’re fucking tight,” he repeats, an appreciatory gaze running over where you’re joined. his thumb stretches over your folds, rubbing them — something of an apology, perhaps, although all it does is stimulate you more, and you shiver at the extra contact. “how deep is it, baby?”

“can feel you here,” you mumble out, your small hand pressing just above your pelvis. he feels the tightness multiply as you place pressure, even just for a moment. “your cock’s so much deeper than anyone else.”

your hand falls away, limp, as he draws his hips back; you inhale, long and deep, before letting it out as a broken moan when he pushes back in. it drives him crazy, to start off this slow, when all he wants is to find a pace that has you sobbing, but the resistance of your pussy against his length isn’t easy to ignore. jeno works you open, his jaw set and his grip tight against your frame, and it isn’t long before he’s picking up speed, the slap of his flesh against yours fueling him exponentially, mingling with your cries, steadily increasing in volume.

“that’s it. let everyone hear you,” he eggs on, his thumb now circling tight around your clit; your legs are quivering, threatening to close, but he keeps you steady, one arm wrapped around your thigh. his thrusts grow rougher, more deliberate, and when he looks up from where you’re joined back to your face, he sees your expression as a mixture of incredulity and ecstasy. a thin line of drool hangs from the corner of your mouth, your pretty pink lip gloss smeared, and fuck if he doesn’t want to make sure you look like this every single time he comes over. “let them know who’s fucking you good, angel.”

“j— jeno!” your voice hitches, lilts up as he presses in at a different, deeper angle, and he almost cums right then and there from the way your walls pulse around him. “your cock feels so good, fucking me just right— more, god, more—”

he complies without hesitation, gathering both your thighs and pushing them closer to your chest; you look even lewder like this, folded in half with your sopping cunt presented to him like it’s all his to take, and it is, isn’t it? there’s an increase in the intensity, the vigor in which he pumps his cock into you, and he knows he’s brushing repeatedly against your spot by the way you’re blubbering his name out in a way that suggests you sincerely think no one else in this building can hear you.

“that’s my girl,” he hums approvingly, though there’s a thickness in his voice that has him sounding a little more strained. “such a good girl, with your cunt all nice and sloppy for me. do you like it when i go this deep? does it feel good when i fuck you where no one else can?”

“yes!” you sob out, your hands crumpling the end of your skirt up into tight fists. “jeno, i— cum, i need to cum again, please—”

“i’ve got you, kitten,” his tone is reassuring, a stark contrast to the rigor of his hips. “don’t have to hang on for me, you know; always love seeing you fall apart.”

“m’close, so close —”

“let go, then,” he urges, his blunt nails digging into your flesh. “let me feel that sweet cunt cum on my cock.”

you comply without hesitation, though if you’d done it willingly, he can’t really tell; he has to pin your hips down to stop you from bucking up and causing him to slip out, and you writhe against him as you sob in ecstasy, your walls fluttering before they clench. stray tears leak from your eyes, squeezed shut, and jeno wants nothing more than to eat you up like this — broken, fucked out.

you’re not even fully down from your high when he feels it — that sudden wrenching in his gut that tells him he’s about to follow suit. with a low groan, he peels your thighs apart again, lets you watch him as he bullies straight into your leaking hole. your voice is a staccato, punctuating every deep, sharp thrust into you, and it’s exactly to that melody that he wants to get off.

“tell me where you want it, angel.” he doesn’t trust his voice, sharp and short as it is now. “should i mark your pretty face? your stomach?”

“want it against my pussy,” you whisper out, and jeno almost loses his mind as he watches you spread your folds apart with your forefinger and middle finger, inviting him. “make a mess of it, sunbae.”

he’s barely able to pull out before he’s spilling against you; he ruts against your slit, coating your folds and the insides of your thighs in thick, creamy white. you hold your legs apart for as long as you can until they start to tremble, and he catches them and gently eases them down.

when you sit up to kiss him, you’re still demanding; he feels your hips rock closer, your sticky cunt pressing against the underside of his cock.

“not enough,” you murmur against his lips, and jeno chuckles as you bind your hands around his neck.

“don’t worry, kitten,” he hums back. “we’ve got all afternoon.”

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obsesssedblerd · 3 months ago

Note

please please please, I need a part 2 to your loving dad Toji/ Preschool teacher reader fic💖💖It’s so good😭

"Who's your new teacher?" (Pt. 2)

Synopsis: Toji gets the phone number of Megumi's preschool teacher that he's been crushing on. [Pt. 1 here]

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, toji being soft and a little shy, mentions of shiu, everyone is happy bc i said so

a/n: sorry that this took a while! also, barely proof-read. sorry for mistakes!

update: part 3 here

------------------

3:30pm, which means that it’s about time for the children to get picked up from preschool. Until they’re picked up by their parents, they run out any additional energy they have on the playground.

All except one.

Instead of playing with the other kids, Megumi Fushiguro sits next to you at one of the tables of the playground with his dog plushie occupying the space beside him. He’s quiet, but relaxed and happy as he fills a page in the coloring book you bought for him and only for him. You notice him digging for a green crayon, and you hand one to him. His eyes light up as he accepts it from you. “Thank you,” he says softly.

You smile at him. “Of course.” Your heart melts when the four year-old returns your smile, then goes back to coloring. Though you enjoyed all of your students, there was no doubt that Megumi was your favorite. According to some of the other teachers, Megumi barely spoke to anyone and always distanced himself. However, he loves being in your presence. He always lets you hold his hand when walking anywhere, or fix his hair,—you still wonder how it’s so spiky—and he talks to you the most. You enjoy his stories about his family, and his love for dogs.

“What are you drawing?” You ask when you notice that he’s drawing on a blank page instead of filling in the lines of the coloring book.

Megumi covers it and pouts slightly. “It’s a surprise. You can’t look until I’m done.”

“Okay. No problem.”

“Hi, Gumi! Hi, Ms. [Y/L/N}!” The familiar, happy voice fills your ears, and excitement swirls in your stomach. Tsumiki Fushiguro skips over to the table, putting her backpack down and gently hugging her little brother, careful not to disturb his coloring. Then, she wraps you in a hug, one that you happily receive. “Hello, sweetheart! How was school and soccer practice?”

“It was fun! We’re going to have a game soon!”

Your eyes scan the playground. If Tsumiki was here, then that meant that—

“Looking for me?” The low, smooth voice sends a small shiver down your spine.

There he is.

You turn around and look up at a smirking Toji Fushiguro, who is without a doubt the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Tall, muscular, dark hair with a scar on his lip, charming, and so gentle with his two kids. Behind him was his friend, Shiu Kong, who you had seen a couple of times. He would pick up Megumi if Toji was held up at work.

“Yeah,” you answer as you release Tsumiki and stand up, mirroring his smile. “I was. How was work?”

Though you enjoyed the activities of your job, this was your favorite part of the day. Nearly every afternoon for the last month and a half, you would spend some quiet time with Megumi during pick-up time, greet Tsumiki when Toji came, then spend at least twenty minutes talking with him while the kids played. A few of your coworkers picked up on how often you were smiling with him, and lightly teased you for having a crush. At first, you denied it, but when you caught yourself daydreaming about him for the umpteenth time while at work, doing chores at home, or before bed, you finally accepted it.

“Work was fine,” he answers, then gestures to Megumi. “How’d he do today?”

“He’s perfect, as always.”

“Done!” Megumi springs up, then stands in-between you and Toji, raising his arms above his head to show you two the picture he was drawing.

Toji smiles down at his son. “Aw, that’s sweet, Megs. What is it?”

You look down to see four happy, smiling figures on the paper, and even though you can tell what they are, you still let Megumi explain them. “This one’s me,” he says as he points to the smaller figure with dark hair and t-shirt with a dog on it. Next is the taller girl beside him. “This is Tsumiki!” He tilts the paper towards his sister, who ‘awws’ in response. Then he smiles up at you as he points to the woman. “This is you, and then right here is Papa.” In the drawing, you’re wearing a brightly colored dress and standing next to Toji.

Toji peers down at what Megumi drew, and asks, “Hey, how come my cheeks are pink?”

Megumi raises a brow, looking up at him in confusion. “Your cheeks are always pink when you’re around Ms. [Y/L/N],” he says matter-of-factly.

Toji’s eyes widen, and Shiu turns around, doing his best to stifle his laugh. “That’s not— No, they’re not-” As Toji fumbles around his words, you catch it—the faint dust of pink on his cheeks, almost missed due to the sunlight on his face.

You don’t point out the small detail that you’re also blushing in Megumi’s drawing.

Toji’s phone buzzes, and he fishes it out to silence the notification. “Crap. We gotta get going. Megumi has a doctor’s appointment.”

At that, Megumi whines and clutches your hand. “I don’t wanna go, papa.”

Your heart squeezes at the utter fear in his eyes, and Toji kneels in front of him. “Megs, I promise, there’s no shots this time. It’s just a little check-up to make sure that you’re healthy.”

You also kneel down, and the small boy wraps his arms around you. “Don’t wanna go,” he repeats, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, “it was scary last time.”

“Aw, it’s okay, Gumi.” You rub a comforting hand up and down his back, then through his hair. “Your dad wouldn’t lie to you, and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. I understand how you’re feeling, though. Doctors can be pretty scary. How about this? Be brave during your check-up, and I’ll have a nice gift for you tomorrow.”

Megumi looks up at you, and excitement replaces the fear that was in his eyes before. “A gift? What is it?”

“You’ll have to see. It’s a surprise,” you say, and you watch as he takes a big breath to calm himself. “Okay.” He hugs you once more, and you see a relieved Toji mouth the words, ‘Thank you’ to you.

As you help Megumi gather his things, you see Toji whispering to Tsumiki, who looks like she can barely contain her excitement. Once she’s ready, she bounces over to you. “Ms. [Y/L/N]?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Papa wants to ask for your phone number,” then she lowers her voice to a not-so-quiet-whisper. “But he’s too shy. Also, can you come to my soccer game pretty, pretty pleaseeeee?!”

Toji lets out a loud, mortified gasp. “Tsumiki, you were supposed to mention the soccer game and then the phone number— oh, my god.” He buries his face in his hand, and this time, Shiu Kong can’t hold back his laugh.

You also laugh, then pat the top of her head. “I’ll come to your game, Tsumiki. I can’t wait to see you play!”

“Yay!” She cheers, completely ignoring the fact that her father’s about to die of embarrassment.

You approach Toji, who bashfully rubs the back of his head. “That completely backfired. I’m so sorry. If you don’t want to, I completely understand-”

“No, I would love to. Yes to Tsumiki’s game, and yes to giving you my phone number.”

He hands you his phone, watching you as you put in your number and texting yourself so you had his. You hand it back, then he effortlessly scoops up Megumi. “I’ll text you the details later.”

“Perfect. See you soon.”

Toji’s eyes soften, and he uses his free hand to push a strand of your hair out of your face. Your heart pounds fast in your chest, and your cheeks heat. “See you soon, doll,” he says.

You nearly stop breathing at the new nickname. As you wave them all goodbye, you let out a slow, blissful sigh. You got his number. Soon, you’ll be going to Tsumiki’s game, then maybe on a date with him, then—

You snap yourself out of it. Don’t think too far ahead. Focus on now. You can freak out about everything else later.

Right now, you have to get a present for Megumi when he’s done with his doctor’s appointment.

------

tags: @sad-darksoul @binnieonabike @byul9158 @sugurubabe @namjooningera @xxkay15xx @eternallyvenus @chosoyukisgf

sorry if I missed anyone! went based off the replies in part one <3

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #toji imagine #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro tsumiki #written by rey <3 #jjk fluff #toji fushiguro #toji x you

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rush-the-stars · 3 months ago

Text

Dogfight

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader, vash the stampede x reader, vashwood x reader

wc: 4k what the actual hell lol

cw: jealousy, mild smut/suggestive content, fighting, blood, biting, marking, possessiveness. the boys are jealous of each other sorta but then get on the same page. minors dni, 18+ only

a/n: this is for an anon that asked me about jealous vashwood and then i spent days working on this and it got too big so i made an Official Fic Post rather than just answering the ask bc im insane and unwell lol this is also probs more 98 vash and wolfwood than stampede! i hope you enjoy!! banner from @/cafekitsune

∘₊✧───────────────────✧₊∘

The first time they meet you, its through a shower of gunfire. Your wild smile is all that’s left when the smoke clears.

Wolfwood thinks he hasn’t seen anyone so damn beautiful in his entire life—streaked with blood and eyes lit up like a flame, twirling a twin pair of pistols like fucking ribbons.

And Vash thinks maybe he’s in love? And then he shakes his head and tries to clear it, tries to clear you from his vision, and at least the smoke disappears some. And the chaos stills. But you smile all crooked at them, tilting your head a little in greeting and he feels wobbly all over again.

“Happy to save your asses,” you say, “buy me a drink?”

Vash hears wedding bells.

(It’s just church bells tolling in the distance.)

“Happy to—happ—“ Vash trips over all his words.

“Shit, I’ll buy you dinner, too.” Wolfwood says.

Vash looks at him, Wolfwood looks back. And then they’re stumbling over themselves to get up, clambering and clawing and falling over each other and they must look like foolish, scrapping dogs in the dirt at your feet.

You laugh, though, warm and amused.

“Settle down, boys. bar’s still standing—you can both buy me a drink.”

And they’re left to watch you walk away and talk to Meryl, whose shaking her head and rolling her eyes at them. You introduce yourself to her.

And they both scramble after your heels, right on the tails of your skirts.

***

You sleep with Wolfwood first—

He’s surprisingly gentlemanly with you, even if you can feel the desperation and hunger that he tries to keep so far from the surface. He’s all bravado, all honeyed words and little growled praises as he squeezes the fat of your hips.

He gets you so wet it’s almost embarrassing, except that he also makes you come so hard that you forget about it almost immediately. He adores being between your legs, adores tasting and taking—being on his knees for you.

Wolfwood is a worshipful man. Devoted. Adoring. With a little grit and bite when you need it.

He leaves a mark or two. Around your collar bones or neck. One on your hip. He can’t help himself.

He takes good care of you in that brutishly charming way of his—fucks deep and hard, carves his way through you and makes you toss your head back into the pillow and pull at his hair. He loves to please, loves to be told what to do or what you want. Take what you need, pretty girl. He hums to you, groaning when you tell him how good he feels.

Rarely impatient except when you rile him up, Wolfwood makes a good lover. Fun and obedient and affectionate.

You adore him.

***

Wolfwood and Vash get testy with each other.

Tensions are high—Vash is surprisingly sharp with him, in a way that makes you a little wary, treating him like a bit of a ticking time bomb.

Wolfwood doesn’t help. He’s an instigator and if there’s one thing he loves, it’s to get under someone’s skin. Especially someone like Vash, whose usually easy and cheerful and kind.

“Would you leave it?” Vash snaps at Wolfwood, shoving the man’s hand off his shoulder. He bares his teeth a little and in the dim light you see the knife-sharp flash of his pointed canines.

“I was just trying to be friendly,” Wolfwood drawls in a way that indicates he most certainly wasn’t just trying to be friendly.

“Something the matter?” You ask and when Vash’s eyes land on you, he immediately softens. He looks guilty. Hangs his head a little and looks at the ground.

“No,” he says, “sorry—“

But Wolfwood says, “Blondie’s got his panties in a bunch about something and I was just trying to see what was wrong—“

Vash’s eyes flash.

“Nick,” you snap. Short and sharp, like reprimanding a dog.

He looks at you. You look back. Then you jerk your head to tell him to get lost, “take a hike.”

“And who made you the boss?” He snarks.

You level him with a more serious look, hand on your hip, “I’ll find you later.”

“You can’t just order me—“

“I wanna talk to Vash.” You respond firmly, “and you’re being a jackass.”

He stares at you for another long moment. You don’t back down, in fact you tip your chin up a little, meeting his eyes with a flash of authority.

He looks at Vash, who quickly glances away.

He scoffs, “whatever. You’re both a pain in my ass.” But he listens to you and skulks off.

You turn to Vash when he’s out of ear shot, “you okay?” You ask.

Vash can’t look at you. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that—“

“Not your fault. He can be a pest. Walk with me?” You ask and now you hold up the crook of your elbow.

Vash eyes you uncertainly for a moment, before he lets go of a small breath, and siddles up to your side. He loops his arm through yours and you begin to guide him through this little, nowhere town. The sun is setting. The dusk sky is smoky and golden, like a quartz glittering, shadowed and shining.

“You seem—“ You choose your words carefully, “troubled lately.” And then you amend, “more troubled than usual.”

“I’m sorry to worry you but everything’s fine.” Vash shakes his head.

“Vash,” you implore gently, shaking his arm a little. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Won’t you tell me?”

“Ah,” Vash says weakly, “it’s alright.” And he looks ahead, out at the horizon. You follow his gaze. There's nothing out there but the line of land in the distance.

“Thanks for standing up for me tonight but you should—you should go find him. He’ll be waiting for you.”

And then Vash drops your arm and walks away, his head down, a little furrow to his brows. And you watch him go, dumbfounded.

When you return to Wolfwood, he’s waiting for you on the porch of the little inn you're staying at, smoking a cigarette.

“What the hell was that all about?” He gruffs, blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

You don’t answer him at first. You slip into his lap easily. He raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, but immediately adjusts, one hand around your waist, the other holding his cigarette away from you.

“You need to leave him be.” You say, sighing as you sink into his embrace.

He pauses for a moment, looks at you—really looks at you.

Then he says, “he wants you, you know.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous? Is that why you’re pestering him?” You rub your knuckle against his stubbly jaw, pet him a little. He leans into the touch, nudging himself against your hand.

"You like him?" He asks instead.

"Course I like Vash." You hush, fingers moving to card through his hair.

He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before he leans away to blow the smoke away from you. It lingers in the air around him and for a moment, you look at him through the haze. The smell of it reminds you so thoroughly of him nowadays that you almost crave it when its not around.

"No," Wolfwood corrects, "do you like him the way you like me?"

"You think I like you?" You tease, but he doesn't take kindly to that and jostles you in his lap a little and even goes so far as to jerk his head away from your touch.

"Woah, take it easy," you say, realizing he really didn't like that joke, "I was only playin' with you. I'm in your lap, aren't I?"

He softens a little. Lets go of a breath. He squeezes your waist, maybe in apology. To soothe the ache, you lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw, pepper them lightly down his neck.

"You didn't answer the question." He mumbles and you feel more than you see him flick his cigarette down and crush it with the heel of his shoe. He pulls you closer now that his other hand is free, slots you tight against him, and leans back to give you more room at his neck.

"Would you be mad if I said yes?" You murmur, carefully kissing at the pulse in his neck. You hide there.

"If i was?"

"You aren't good at sharing?" You coo, nudging your nose against his jaw, up to catch him in a quick kiss. He nips a little in answer.

"Not usually," he finally says.

"Not even with Vash?" You ask, because you know him better than he'd like to admit. And now you pull away to look at him.

To really look at him.

His eyes flick away, maybe bashfully, "yeah, well—I don't think I'm the one you have to worry about."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He shrugs a little, "you think cause he puts up the goody-two-shoes act that it makes him good with sharing?" He asks, "why do you think he's gotten so pissed with me lately?"

You hum in acknowledgement. "Have you been rubbing it in?" You ask.

"Not intentionally." He says. And then when you look at him more pointedly, he admits, "not intentionally most of the time."

"Well, we'll see if Vash can share." You finally say and lean again to kiss him.

But in a sudden move, he grabs your chin, forces you still. Forces you to look at him.

"Only Vash, you hear me?" He says. His eyes are dark suns, all encompassing and imploring and fiery, "anyone else and I'll lose it."

You can't tell if it's a warning with the slight waver in his voice or a threat, with the growl behind the end of it. And then you remember scared dogs bite.

"Only Vash." You swear, "only you."

He settles a little, leans back again, and this time, when you kiss him, it's harder. More a claiming than a kiss — more a damning than a passion. He gives it back tenfold.

He litters you in little marks, in his scent, and drops his blazer around your shoulders in the morning. At breakfast, right in front of Vash, he catches you in a sharp, burn of a kiss.

More of a claiming. More of a damning.

***

When you sleep with Vash for the first time, it’s after a near-death experience. You were being reckless. The room is charged.

And Vash kisses you not like it’s the first time, but like it could be the last. He's the heat of a falling star, searing you, devouring you. He's all desperation. All starvation.

You'd thought with how sweet he usually was, that he'd be even more well behaved than Wolfwood, but that is far from the truth. He's a little untamed, untrained and clumsy and ferocious.

He whines as he takes you apart and you think he'd probably take praise well if you could teach him but right now he's just so— raw. So yearning and famished with it all.

You've no choice but to try and give everything you can in hopes of soothing him in some way. Filling the emptiness in him. And even still, you're aching and sore and torn-up after all is said in done.

Vash is bashful and a little remorseful about it come morning.

But you twine your arms around him and kiss him hard in reassurance. In encouragement.

He's passionate and all-encompassing. He's all your world in this moment.

You adore him.

Later, when Wolfwood sees the marks he left on you, he curses.

"Is he a fucking vampire?" He asks, tilting your head to the side to see the dark bruise in the side of your neck. But then he realizes how tender you are still, how aching, and he coos all soft.

Tells you he'll lick the wounds Vash gave you.

Says. I told you it wasn't me you had to worry about.

Vash avoids you and Wolfwood for nearly two days.

On the third, he finally breaks.

And when he does, he bundles you in his red coat after a long day, fists his hands in the collar of it to pull you towards him, and kisses you hard in front of Wolfwood, underneath the dark heavens above. He says he'll be back later.

Your lip throbs from the nip of his teeth.

(When Wolfwood kisses you shortly after, pushing Vash's coat from your shoulders, he soothes the sting with his tongue.)

***

For awhile, all the boys do is fight when they're around each other. It's getting to a point where Meryl is avoiding them at all costs—and you're just short of joining her.

The worst of it is on one of the hottest days in a long time.

Wolfwood says something he shouldn't—asks Vash if he could smell his cologne on you. Asks if he likes it.

It's too far. Usually, they bicker and fight over unrelated, stupid shit.

But that strikes a nerve.

And it's so fast that you don't even catch it, and suddenly Vash has Wolfwood pinned against the wall, hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

You always thought, maybe just on height and weight alone, that Wolfwood was stronger. But looking at Vash now, easily pinning him, you aren't quite sure.

"Oh, you wanna finally fight?" Wolfwood asks, baring his teeth, too.

And really, it's like when dogs fight.

It's fast and vicious. It sounds worse than it is—snarling and growling and wrestling with each other. It's artless. You've seen them both in a fight and this isn't—this isn't that. It's better, maybe, on Wolfwood's end. He's not trying to kill Vash. But maybe it's also worse, more personal, more brutal.

You hear Vash yelp—Wolfwood curses. More fighting.

You yell at them, the way you shout at fighting dogs, grab hold of Wolfwood around the collar and pull hard enough that he stops from his place over Vash, panting.

His mouth is bloody and it drips down onto Vash, his teeth still bared and crimson.

For a moment, they look at each other.

(And Vash thinks wildly, looking up at Wolfwood, sorry about the blood in your mouth. I think I wish it was mine. He tastes blood himself and wonders if it is Wolfwood's. If he really did bite him.

Wolfwood thinks, hit me again. If that's all you'll give me now, I'll take it. Wolfwood looks down at Vash, feels his heaving chest beneath him, and thinks, if I can only have you this close in a fight, I'll take that, too.)

You're cursing them both out, hauling Wolfwood off of him. You're furious and shaking and you're scolding them both.

You're fussing over them both, too, angrily wiping at their mouths and inspecting their wounds.

And they both think, maybe I should pick more fights, to see you like this, too, flustered and livid and worried. Doting. Adoring.

You shake your head at the both of them but—

You adore them.

***

It takes another man sniffing around you for them both to finally get on the same page.

And if it's one thing about Vash and Wolfwood, for all their bickering and differences, they know when to shut up and work together.

The moment another man starts chatting you up at the bar, they both go still and silent.

"You see what I'm seeing?" Wolfwood asks.

"Yeah," Vash says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as the man manages to make you laugh. He leans all close to you. Vash has a near visceral reaction to jerk up from his seat beside Wolfwood.

Wolfwood grabs his arm.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' then?" He asks.

Vash spares him only a glance—his eyes are trained on you and the man at your side. He grimaces. "Probably not. I don't wanna kill him."

Wolfwood barks out a laugh as Vash adds, "but I don't want him here, either."

"You wanna chase him off?" He asks. "Or you want me to be the bad guy?"

Vash swallows.

"She'll get mad at me for being an asshole. She'll be all pleased with you for being so good." He says and there's a dryness to his tone, a certain resignation or—

"Why would you do that?" Vash asks and he finally peels his eyes away long enough to look at Wolfwood.

To really look at him.

He shrugs, "I don't mind being in the dog house."

Vash eyes him.

Wolfwood smiles a little, "and I think she's hot when she's mad."

Vash frowns at that, a little twitch of his lips, almost in a pout. "Besides that—I meant—why would you do that for me?"

Wolfwood looks back over at the man at the bar, whose gotten even closer to you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. You're smiling and playing nice. Wolfwood's hackles rise. He bristles. He finally stands, too.

He never feels this way when he sees you with Vash. He never feels this way on the nights when Vash has you. In fact, the idea of it is—it's—

Kissing you after Vash. Knowing he'd just kissed you. Sinking his teeth into the ridges of marks Vash leaves on you, like he's trying to get his own taste. Or compare his teeth to Vash's. Maybe he growls and snaps at him and bares his teeth the next day, too, but he never feels like this.

Scared and mean and angry and—

"What, are you gonna make me fuckin' say it?" Wolfwood snaps.

"Say what?!"

Wolfwood slugs his arm hard. The flesh one, so he doesn't damn near break his knuckles doing it. And Vash yelps all high and Wolfwood wants to shake him and he also sorta wants to hit him again. And maybe he wants to kiss him stupid, too—

"I don't—" Wolfwood swallows hard, "I don't mind sharing. With you. With only you."

Wolfwood looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And then Vash turns the deepest shade of red.

Wolfwood's face gets hot all over, too. "Oh, Christ, blondie—did you really not know?"

"I don't know what I thought!" Vash says and his voice gets sorta high.

"Well—" Wolfwood shifts, uncharacteristically nervous, "what about—I mean, do you—are you okay sharing...with me?"

"At first, I thought I wasn't." Vash admits, "and I was jealous of—" he swallows, "I was jealous of both of you, if I think about it. You're just—you push my buttons more than she does—so. I took it out on you, mostly."

"Ah," Wolfwood says, "you took it out on her, too. Just in a different way."

Vash cheeks somehow get darker with color and Wolfwood laughs, realizing that he's—it's relief. He feels relieved, finally, as he laughs.

"You're a dumbass." He says to Vash.

And Vash smiles at him, crooked and boyish and stupidly handsome. That smile that Wolfwood has always liked.

Wolfwood then turns his gaze back to you, back to the man at the bar whose leaning in all close. He sees you tip away, adjusting your space. And he says;

"Now let's go get our girl."

The moment Wolfwood comes up behind you, you know there will be trouble unless this man doesn't leave quick — what you aren't expecting, is Vash to come up on the other side of the man. You tilt your head.

You feel a broad hand on your lower back, "he botherin' you?" Wolfwood asks, leaning all into your space.

The man sizes up Wolfwood, weighing his chances still and you can nearly feel Wolfwood stiffen and bristle behind you. He doesn't like being challenged.

"He was just seeing if I wanted a drink."

Vash, on the other side of the man says, "maybe he'd like it if I bought him a drink instead!" And though it's said brightly, it's almost a little too bright.

Vash's eyes gleam like the cold edge of bright moons.

You look between them for a moment as the man says, "alright, what the hell is this? You her boyfriend or something?"

"Or something." Wolfwood agrees casually.

"And whose this guy?" He snarks to Vash, "her other boyfriend?"

"Or something." Vash says, still smiling, and that really pisses the guy off.

"Would you back up?" He snaps and he shoves at Vash enough that he stumbles away a few steps. And before he can do something stupid, you put yourself between Wolfwood and the man.

"Leave him," you say lowly to Wolfwood, whose hackles are raised.

Wolfwood isn't looking at you, he's looking at the man behind you and his eyes are hard and cold and mean looking.

"Nick," you say, "I don't want a bar fight."

"Worried he can't handle me?" The man asks, "no wonder you were letting me chat you up."

Wolfwood jerks a little in your hold and Vash speaks up, laughing a little, "no reason to fight! Wouldn't want to clean you up off the floor."

Well, that does it.

The man swings on Vash, who yelps a little, but easily evades him. When he ducks, the man connects with another person behind Vash.

Damn it all.

The bar breaks out in pandemonium. Wolfwood shoves you beneath him and Vash works on ducking and diving out of the way of the first few swings sent his way. Shouting and glass shattering, raining down from above, makes you curse.

Wolfwood dodges the first punch thrown his way and he shoves you out of the way, before he takes a swing himself. When he connects, it's a nasty punch. Blood erupts.

Food is getting thrown. Alcohol sailing overhead, soaking the fighting crowd and angering them further. The poor bartender is hiding, ducking behind the counter and shivering.

You clamber atop the bar to get a look and—it's a wild crush of people, fighting and wrestling and breaking glass over each other's heads.

You put your fingers to your mouth and whistle—the loud, piercing kind that usually gets everyone's attention. This time, there's so much noise and shouting, that not a soul stops their fighting.

You pull out one of your pistols.

The shot thunders in the bar, makes your ears ring.

Everyone gasps and yells in surprise, instinctively ducking, covering their heads. But they all finally turn to look at you.

"Everyone out!" You shout, "take your fighting elsewhere!"

Grumbles erupt. But you hold up your pistol and shout again, with more force and fire, "out!"

The bar begins to stir, all the patrons dislodging and shifting about, detangling themselves from their fights. They meander in knots of people, twisting out the door slowly.

When Vash and Wolfwood appear again, they look disheveled and Vash's lip is busted. Wolfwood's sunglasses are shattered. You put your hands on your hips as you look down at them.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you two?" You snap.

Wolfwood reaches up to lift you right off the bar and back onto the ground in front of him. He shrouds you, "nurse our wounds?" He asks.

"You're a pain in the ass. I told you I didn't want a bar fight."

"He didn't throw the first punch, in his defense." Vash speaks up, but he's talking sorta funny because of his lip, which is swelling even now.

You sigh, "let me see."

Vash siddles up to you, a little sheepish, with that puppy-dog look on his face. He bends down a little, so you can get a better look at his face, dipping his head down in a show of submission.

Woflwood, behind you, whistles. "That's a good one, blondie."

"Hurts." Vash says as you carefully inspect it, debating if he'll need stitches or not.

"You gonna kiss it better?" Wolfwood asks.

"Why don't you?" You snark back, "since you two are finally working together it seems."

Vash smiles a little, which makes him wince, which makes you scold him. Wolfwood laughs, cooing a little, before he says, "alright, alright—lets get him patched up."

And you walk out with them at your skirts, hovering around you, dogging your steps. They follow you all the way back into your little room at an inn on the edge of the world.

And they settle in like they both own the damn place.

Wolfwood is tormenting Vash a little, whose whining and coming to your side for aid. But they're both—getting along, at least. And they're both demanding all your attention and taking up space in your room and—

And you adore them. You adore both of them, even with all their damn dogfights.

#nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #vashwood x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x you #wolfwood x you #vash the stampede x you #vash x you #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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Helllloooooo!!!! So, I know you wrote a slytherin!cap × James once, but I was wondering if you could maybe write like, poly!marauders with a slytherin reader, who is like annoyingly academic and puts a lot of pressure on herself for her school work bc her parents put a lot of pressure on her growing up???? If not it's totally okay, I hope you have a lovely day and take care of yourself :]

Hi honey, thanks for requesting! I hope you enjoy it and had a lovely day as well :)

Modern AU I guess? Since I couldn't think of what a Slytherin party would look like in the 70s but had a very clear vision of what it'd look like now haha

on that note, cw: Mo Bamba, and also mention of drinking

poly!marauders x Slytherin!reader ♡ 981 words

Remus looks up from where he’s splayed out on his bed, James doodling on his hand with a pen, when you stalk into their room.

Sirius lowers the small mirror he’s been using to do his eye makeup. “Hi, gorgeous. What brings you over from the snake pit?”

“Too fucking loud,” you grumble, sitting on James’ unoccupied bed. You’ve got a thick textbook with you, your fingers keeping your page. “Why does there have to be a rager every other night? It’s excessive.” You open your book, cutting a glare towards Sirius. “Your brother keeps saying he’s going to hex the next person who tries to play Mo Bamba, by the way. Could hear him all the way from my dorm.”

Sirius grins. “Sounds justified.”

“Sweetheart, it’s a Friday night,” James says, resuming his patterns on Remus’ hand. Remus hasn’t looked, but they’re beginning to feel oddly word-shaped. “We’re about to have a party here, too.”

You scowl. “Think you guys could at least keep it down?”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “You should join.”

“I have to study.”

“What do you have to study for on a Friday?” Remus asks, at the same time as Sirius mutters “Killjoy.”

You huff, your eyes moving over the page though you can’t be reading. “Doing research for Slughorn’s essay.”

James makes a sound that’s half amusement, half bafflement, capping his pen and freeing Remus’ hand. “Angel, that’s not due until next Tuesday.”

“I know,” you say, starting to sound prickly. “I just want to be prepared. I need a good grade on this.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at you. “You’re doing fine in Potions already, sweetheart, just like in every other class. You don’t need to spend your Friday studying to pass.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” you sneer, looking up at him sharply. “And I want to do better than fine.”

Sirius raises his hands in a don’t-shoot gesture, and James and Remus exchange a look. You’ve implied, now and then, that your parents weren’t easy on you growing up. They know that every time your family writes to you, they ask for details about your grades and how your classes are going. You’re proud of the fact that your father was head boy and your mother graduated at the top of her class. And it’s a good thing to be proud of your family, but it’s also a lot to live up to, at least in Remus’ opinion. He’s seen how you tear yourself apart when your performance on an assignment doesn’t live up to your standards, and how you worry your lip when reading letters from home.

Remus understands the desire to do well, and of course you’re ambitious—it’s the core trait of your house—but he worries you take it too far. Although your boyfriends drag you away from your books whenever they can, oftentimes (like now), you seem hellbent on slaving away to build your future rather than enjoying your youth.

James watches you worriedly, and Remus gives his hand an encouraging squeeze as he stands, moving to sit behind you on James’ bed. Your eyes still skim the page mechanically, shoulders stiff with your habitual rigidity. Remus sets a hang between the blades tentatively, waiting to see if you’ll flinch away before beginning to massage with gentle fingers. You relax as though reluctant, at first slowly and then not. The resistance under his hand falls away, and the look you give him over your shoulder shows your hostility has gone with it.

“We all know you’re already doing better than fine,” he says softly. “You’ve got the highest grades in our class, love, and you’re going to do well on this essay whether you spend the entire weekend on it or not.”

You soften further at the praise, but there’s still something wary in your eyes. “I don’t get my grades by just not trying,” you say, the words blunt though there’s no malice in them.

“No one’s saying you shouldn’t try,” Remus reasons, fingers still splayed between your shoulder blades with a light pressure. “All Sirius is saying is that you can afford a night off. Maybe even a few every now and then, yeah?”

“Right,” Sirius says, eager to rectify himself with you. “You’re fucking killing it, dollface. You’re obviously going to smash this essay, even if you get shitfaced with us tonight.”

James grins at that. “Yeah!”

“Well,” Remus says mildly, “maybe not shitfaced—”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Sirius insists, his eyelid glittering as he winks at you. You crack a smile, and something in Remus’ chest eases. When he reaches around you to close your book, you let him, but then grab his hand, snickering. He whips it away, reading for himself.

“Prongs, why did you write ‘The Casanova of Gryffindor’ on my hand?”

Sirius laughs. “Because it’s true. Can we add ‘Property of the Marauders’ though?”

“Wasn’t room,” James says regretfully. “But I did put a bunch of hearts, did you see?”

“I see,” Remus replies wryly. “Don’t suppose this’ll come off anytime soon.”

James aims for sheepish and misses, his telltale dimple appearing. It’s completely unfair that Remus is supposed to be upset with him, and yet he still wants to kiss it. “Did it with a charmed pen, so unlikely.”

“Superb.”

“Is that the standard decoration for a Gryffindor party?” you ask, seeming back to your snide self. Why does Remus fall so hard for assholes? “Seems rather tame.”

“I can’t believe we’re finally getting you to one of our parties.” James bounces on the edge of Remus’ bed. “You’re gonna love it, sweetheart, they’re so much fun.”

You look at him dubiously, though your eyes are playful. “Pretty sure Slytherin throws the best parties in the school. Are you so sure you can measure up?”

Sirius scoffs. “Gorgeous, they’re playing Mo Bamba in there. I think we’ll be alright.”

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quibbs126 · 5 months ago

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…Okay, you may end up seeing these drawings yet again on a later date

I finished the page, which was small at 500x500 px, but I wanted to make the page bigger. I did that, and I drew one new thing, but now I don’t know what else to draw on there. So for now, I figured I might as well post the original full page right now

Yeah, sorry for the laziness

This is the other sketch I finished on there, for those curious

Anyways, so yeah, this new style practice I’m trying

The original page I tried these out on is this, which also isn’t full, but I thought trying it out with actual characters instead of just random poses and shapes would be better, so I switched over to Cookie Run characters

The method is still a work in progress when it comes to all the shapes and the red sketch layer

I suppose what I should do now is try drawing a bunch of different Cookies that have different body shapes, so that I have practice with that. As well as maybe attempt some full body ones

I suppose you can suggest some if you want, considering I don’t know who to draw other than like, Hollyberry or Avocado, since I should try drawing large but not buff characters here. But I should also probably draw more skinny, and also chubby

But on to what I actually drew

So I already talked about Peach Blossom and the top Dark Choco drawing prior, so no real need to elaborate

The Dark Choco and Dark Cacao one was me drawing them in their younger forms to see how they compare. Not for any sort of study thing, but just in a symbolic sort of way. Since they’re so similar looking

I think I had a lot more fun with Choco, especially his hair. I remember Cacao being mostly annoying for his weird cloak thing that I don’t understand

The hand pose was ass though. I knew the general idea of what I wanted, that being them with their hands over their swords, but I was struggling to figure out how to draw the hands. Not to mention I had to change the pose from the red sketch because the swords were further down than I put them. I still don’t think I did the pose exactly correct, but screw it, it’s good enough

I’m also noticing that Choco looks way lighter in skin tone compared to Cacao. Like yeah, I know he’s normally slightly lighter, but it’s far more noticeable here. I’m pretty sure it’s because I used Dark Choco’s ToA colors here (bc they work better with my black lineart), which are slightly lighter, as well as just that Dark Choco is wearing much lighter colors while Dark Cacao’s are relatively darker. So maybe it just makes them contrast more

I liked drawing them, but I also did basically do the same body type 3 in a row, so I should probably draw different characters

Anyways, let’s talk about that extra sketch

So for those who likely don’t remember, that there is an OC of mine called Prickly Pear Cookie

I made her entirely on a whim one day, and she doesn’t really have any character or story, just vibes, but I really like her design and wanted to draw it again

I probably should give her some sort of bra though. The shirtless chest looks cool but in my opinion sounds really uncomfortable without at least that

I did originally draw her with the green skin, but it looked weird so I shifted it to more of a yellow so it looks more human

Honestly I really like how she turned out

But yeah, I think that’s about it for now. Just wanted to show this

#I need to tweak and perfect it more #but it’s turning out relatively nice #I just need to stop falling back on old drawing habits #I need to relearn hands a new way #I have a reference that I found later on so I might use that #anyways #cookie run #dark choco cookie #dark cacao cookie #peach blossom cookie #art stuff #art style #cookie run oc #prickly pear cookie #my art

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its-your-mind · 6 months ago

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fuckin shit I'm just so glad Dorian's back!! he just slots back in so easily bc he was there when they started and he's been a lingering part of them this whole time! he was the one who Chetney started tormenting first when he first joined up! and none of the rest of them are as fun to torment for him as dorian has always been for both chet AND ashton. ash just gets to be dumb and joke at dorian because dorian always takes it with grace but also is kinda a shit about it. imogen of COURSE noticed Dorian’s new look, because the two of them have ALWAYS been on the same page about the importance of how you choose to show yourself to the world, and BOY OH BOY she can get up to so much more charisma mischief now that her partner-in-lies is back. and laudna has immediately started once again delightedly horrifying him with her various dead things and he is delighted and ALSO horrified bc he loves her so much and fearne who LOVES HIM and finally has one of her people BACK WHERE SHE CAN SEE HIM which is so so important and good. and of course ORYM. Orym is smiling and he seems more relaxed and I know he loves all of the Hells so very much but like. ya know how when you've been away from Your Person for a long time and then they're there again and it's like you finally are able to be relaxed? and it doesn't matter how safe and relaxed you were before, because there was always something missing and then all of a sudden it's not missing anymore and everything is just. better. and something that’s been tight inside of you finally loosens. because your world was wrong, and now it’s all right again. and so Orym is less tense, he’s taking up more physical space, his smiles come faster, his laughs come easier, his emotions aren’t set on a four second delay behind his duty and so they show on his face as he’s feeling them.

and yes, everything is horrible. fcg should be here for this. dorian has just lost so much, and he’s coming to tell fearne and orym that they’ve lost people too. but at the same time…

all of that is easier to bear. because they’re together again. there is still an empty hole where fcg should be, but at least it’s not side-by-side with the space the Hells have been holding open as they waited for the winds of fate to finally guide their bard back where he belonged.

#critical role #bells hells #dorian storm #dorym #kinda??#c3e93 #this was an emotional rollercoaster #I’m. fine.#cr spoilers #critical role spoilers

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a-strangers-thoughtss · 7 months ago

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I’ve been re-watching season one and two again.

I may just be over exhausted and sleep deprived but

To me, Mike doesn’t have romantic feelings for El. I mean, season one could seem pretty cute, but it just takes me so much out of it when I remember that El literally has no idea what’s going on? Like they’re just never on the same page.

(Even in season 1, like “so I’d be your sister?” And so on. I don’t think they’ve been on the same page for very often either)

It feels very Steve and Nancy tbh. Like all the cannon couples just get eachother, but Mileven just don’t? Stancy is the only other one that they’ve just kind of never fully been on the same page (I’m not talking about miscommunication, all the cannon couples struggle with that)

I just don’t feel it ig? Like Lumax and Jopper you can just feel it, same with Duzi (qnd byler but we’re going off of current cannon) but with Mileven it feels more awkward?

I’m probably rambling, but again, I’m so over exausted rn.

Also when Mike talks about El in the Crazy together scene it feels like he’s more focused on the fact that she could solve their ud problems-

Just none of it feels romantic at all

(His face also rlly doesn’t light up that much when els around, but Will has his own voice 🤨)

Like their reunion in season 2 was fucking adorable, I’ll admit. But it just didn’t feel very romance to me? Again, maybe I’m just not watching it fully but even the snow ball feels very platonic to me.

Mike very obviously doesn’t have romantic feelings for El. At least bc I’m watching from a new perspective. She’s definitely his friend, and he 100% misses her really badly. But I personally see no attraction there at all. Like he sees her again for the first time in a year and it’s this really sweet moment, but it just feels like two besties reuniting?

Maybe I’m spouting comète nonsense though.

THE VIBES ARE NOT VIBING

#byler #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #mike wheeler i know what you are #what’s gayer? being gay or constantly looking at your besties lips #girl does not look at el like that #platonic elmike #THE VIBES ARE NOT VIBING

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silvyslayer42 · 1 year ago

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saiki k headcannons (very very long post)

-kurumi + kuusuke have weird unnaturally sharp teeth that are lowkey scary if you look at them for too long. kusuo also has it but he hides it.

-if you think at kusuo, he can hear you no matter where you are. the psychickers (+ his family) know this and use it against him.

-kusuo is an unwilling empathy crier. if someone starts crying near him, he will at least start to tear up. he finds it an extreme inconvenience and does everything he can to hide it. this only really happens with people in his direct vicinity though, so no movie characters or random people in his telepathy radius.

-too many characters have similarly colored eyes, so here’s a lightning round with some eye color changes

akechi: periwinkle. it just makes sense to me ok?? a silly color for a silly goober. it grows on me more the more i think about it.

aren: dark magenta with a hint of red. i think it represents his personality better

toritsuka: dark grey. i like it and have no explanation for it. honorable mention goes to pink because it makes him match with saiki

also aiura has neon yellow eyes not green they are not green her eyes are not gre

-kusuo gets a pretty normal amount of sleep all things considered, in fact he probably gets maybe an hour or so more than average most nights because he just loves sleeping so much. kuusuke does not even go out of his way to get a bed for himself because the only sleep he gets is when he forgets to take his bi-hourly injection of whatever he’s using in place of caffeine and passes out on top of whatever he’s working on for ≈3 minutes before jolting himself awake and going back to work. if he really has to nap for whatever reason he claims the floor is plenty comfortable.

-kusuo has sedatephobia (fear of silence). while the peaceful tranquility of putting people’s thoughts on mute with the ring is nice, if he were to somehow be put into a situation with no noise at all or even just very little noise I think he’d be pretty freaked. he’s never had a truly quiet moment before, so it’s only a natural reaction to be uncomfortable with it. he would avidly deny it if asked though, even if he gets visibly anxious from it.

-kuusuke has never used bugs against kusuo directly because he thinks phobias are a cheap and uncreative tactic. the birthday card thing doesn’t count because that was only psychometry images.

-it’s not really a psychic power but all of the pk psychics have extremely strong intuitions. like they just Know things sometimes. this is basically canon for at least kusuo but that besides the point. the jury is still out on whether akechi also has the psixth sense or if he’s just weird but he is definitely on the same page as everyone else most of the time because of his near psychic analysis of his situation and surroundings

-kusuo can use transform on other people but it never comes up bc why would he do that when hypnosis is so much easier? something something genderbend episode

-kusuo had a very bad no good week like right before he got his limiters where his hair became uncuttable and he was forced to have a mullet until it culminated in kusuo willing himself into developing heat vision and cutting his hair with it to mixed results.

-each of the saiki’s think they’re the more normal one balancing out the rest of the family’s weirdness but no. all of you are weird there is no balance

-more of an opinion than a headcanon, but being average/“normal” was never really what saiki wanted. what he’s actually after is peace, and he just happens to associate those things with it. that’s why he changed the world to perceive his unusual attributes as normal when he was younger instead of changing himself to appear normal, what he truly wants is a world that he can be himself in and be at peace at the same time. the reason he refuses to admit this, even to himself, is because of his own lack of self-acceptance. you guys don’t understand he’s such an angsty and tragic character actually ! a poor little meow meow even ! listen to me !!

-kusuo and kuusuke NEED to have a “let’s take ibuprofen together” moment i will not be explaining further

-kuusuke works above board a lot, but he is definitely doing some “under the table” stuff when it comes to selling the shit he makes because he just does not care and wants money to fund his games. he is confident he will never get caught and even if he’s wrong kusuo is reversing that shit to avoid the trouble it would cause him.

-kuusuke does love robotics (specifically with making weapons but he does indulge in the gadget or two), and that is definitely his favorite to do stuff with and the thing he is most passionate about, but don’t be fooled, he does everything. any science under the sun and he is probably an expert on it. special mentions of things he knows a lot a lot about go to neuroscience, physics, biology, first aid/general medicine, pharmacology (technically canon because of that muscle relaxent from the cattank arc) and anything that you could realistically make a psi pun with.

-sometimes kuusuke randomly decides that a random ass guy is the person of the week he wants to piss off (to him it’s like being annoying to an animal, very amusing ^^). positive things about this: it’s normal a really bad person he decides to be a menace to like a rich guy or a corrupt politician. bad things about this: he has had to deal with hired hits on him before

-aiura can get a very accurate read on someone’s personality near instantly and has an encyclopedic knowledge on everyone. she knows your birthday and she knows what you want. teruhashi too but not because she’s psychic she’s just also weird.

-aiura has a very bad sleep schedule because she gets woken up in the middle of the night by visions of disaster. this is NOT THE SAME as kusuo’s visions !! kusuo is tormented in his sleep, she is kept awake. aiura also sometimes has visions of shit right before it happens and if it’s a bad thing she has to think quick on her feet to stop it.

-aiura does not stop helping people she just gets a little bit better at being discreet. eventually she goes freelance and owns her own shop for occult stuff good for her

ok that’s all i got for now. tune in whenever i decide to do this again for more bangers

#this is almost organized #not really #please ask about any of these if you are interested i can talk for soo long bbg you have no idea #saiki k #uhh #im not tagging everyone i mentioned #saiki kusuo #saiki kuusuke #saiki kusuke #the rest of the saikis #aiura mikoto #character headcanons #headcannons #how the fuck do you spell that word #both ways of spelling it do not look right

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blainesebastian · 2 years ago

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drunk dial

words: 2,709 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) drunk! austin and sober! girlfriend having to pick him up and maybe some of his cast mates or something bc they’re at a bar? and austin just loving on her and doting on her notes: masterlist on my sidebar! could be a part of ‘mutually assured satisfaction’ universe if you squint warnings: NSFW :) tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted

Something that you learn early on in your relationship with Austin is that he likes to have a good time and knows exactly how to do it. Celebrity status gives way to excess and parties are easily thrown, almost constantly, with no deeper reason other than to just enjoy it. Austin himself is just full of life, he’s one of those people that’s infectious to be around, a contagious smile, a bright laugh, eyes as clear and blue as the ocean when you look into them. He makes you feel like you could utterly be the center of any universe when he speaks to you, drawing you in and asking you questions and always making you feel welcome, no matter who you are.

It's no wonder that he’s constantly invited to things, that people want him to attend—and then you mix a few drinks in there? A perfect storm.

You enjoy that version of your boyfriend, secretly one of your favorites even though you’d never tell him.

When he’s drunk he’s incredibly rose-colored, as if he’s got those type of glasses on his eyes when he interacts with people. He draws them close into conversation, he becomes a bit more touchy, and when you’re with him his hands are constantly on your body—looking for any excuse to pull you close and into a kiss. His body warm, the way a twinge of sweat mixes with his skin and cologne, how easily those same hands sometimes wander between your legs, God; makes your toes curl just thinking about it.

Unfortunately tonight you’re missing out on that, needing some time on your own this weekend to decompress from a busy week on set. You’re always grateful for the opportunities, don’t get it wrong, but sometimes you definitely need the space to breathe and reset. Austin invited you out tonight with some castmates of his own to a bar, a wrap party of sorts, and teasingly kissed you goodbye at the front door with a comment against your lips of all work and no play.

It's about eleven or so when you crawl into bed, dragging a book with you that you’ve stopped and started about a dozen times. Propping up the pillows, you lean back to read a few pages before sleeping. You’ll honestly feel accomplished if you manage to dedicate at least ten pages per night…doubtful, but here’s hoping.

Your phone begins to vibrate when you’re about two pages in and you sigh as you reach for it on the comforter because that’s typical. If it’s your agent you’ll call her back tomorrow, but Austin’s name flashes on the screen. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth before you swipe to answer.

“Long time no talk,” You tease, putting the phone on speaker. You set your book down over your legs, keeping your spot for the page you’re on.

You wait a few moments for Austin to respond, the sound of traffic and a chaotic background of bar music and chatter filter in every so often. You raise your eyebrows, about to speak again when you finally hear Austin make a noise, which distinctly sounds like a huff,

“I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

A soft laugh flutters out of your throat because for a moment you don’t think he’s serious but then you wait for the other shoe to drop and it never comes. Amusement wraps around your chest like a warm blanket, shaking your head as you lean up in bed a little to hover over your phone.

“I’m not there babe, remember? I didn’t come out with you tonight.”

There’s a small space of time in which you can definitely tell Austin is scrunching his nose, “Well that explains a lot then.”

You laugh again, can’t help it, running a hand over your face. Out of the things you expected to happen tonight, this wasn’t one of them—getting a drunk phone call from your boyfriend when it’s barely eleven o’clock. He must be having a good time so far.

You listen for a moment, wondering what’s going on. He sounds okay though? Definitely outside, so maybe he’s just getting some fresh air. You chew on your lower lip, playing with the fabric of the comforter between your fingers.

“What’d you do tonight?” Austin asks and while you’re pretty sure he won’t be able to keep track of your response, you appreciate he’s trying.

“Uhm,” You hum, “I made dinner, had a long bath—”

“Shame I missed that,” He interrupts, a slight drawl to his tone leftover from Elvis, something that nearly always creeps into his voice when he’s upset, tired or drunk.

“Can always raincheck for another time,” You smile, continuing, “Had a cup of tea and decided to try and read a bit. Didn’t get very far.” You tilt your head a little, pausing, “You havin’ fun?”

“Would be havin’ a better time with you,” He says almost instantly, like he was ready to throw that reply in regardless of the question. You smile a little, curling your hair around your ear.

“Well, I can’t disagree about that.”

You feel the tiniest bit guilty that you didn’t allow Austin to tug you out of the apartment tonight, that you’re not out with him having a few beers and sitting too close, maybe even dancing to cheesy nineties music or playing a game of pool (and totally winning). But you also know that in order to be the very best girlfriend, or just your very best self in general, that you need to take the time to recharge your battery.

“When are you coming back home?” You ask, not intending on cutting his night short or anything but you admittedly want him in bed with you. He’s slightly needy like this and you’re not about to deny that you find that a bit attractive. PDA isn’t a foreign concept to him when he’s sober so you kinda enjoy the moments where he’s cranking that up to eleven, needing and wanting you so much closer.

You can definitely relate.

“When do you want me?”

Smiling a little, you shake your head at the opening—far too easy, “I always want you.” And it feels like such a line that he’s tossed in your direction once or twice.

Austin laughs, the sound warm and affectionate against your eardrum, “That’s cute—real smooth. You tryin’ to flirt with me?”

“Oh I’m definitely trying,” You nod, no use in denying that. “Is it working?”

“Maybe,” He then seems to remember the original question you posed, “M’comin’ home now.”

You tug back the covers after a moment, a few thoughts swirling around in your head, wondering if he’s done things like paid his bill or told his castmates he was leaving. You’re a bit selfish in this though because you don’t mention any of that, instead,

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” Austin confirms, “Gonna grab one of those uber things.”

You chuckle lightly, pulling yourself from bed to quickly put on a pair of joggers. You then grab the sherpa lined jean jacket that he often wears and drape it over your shoulders, the sleeves a bit too long for your arms but you kinda like that.

“Why don’t you let me come get you so you don’t have to worry about the ‘uber things’.”

Austin pauses, like he’s trying to get two thoughts to connect in his head before he says, “That would be amazin’. Girlfriend award.”

You grin, shaking your head as you grab your wallet and keys before slipping out of your apartment, “Just constantly winning those. I’ll be there soon, don’t wander.” Pulling the phone away from your ear, you check his location just in case and make your way to the door.

Surprisingly, there’s not a lot of traffic downtown, which makes parking easy near the bar Austin’s at. Letting out a soft sigh, you turn the engine off and crane your neck to look outside and around the place your boyfriend is supposed to be. You get out of the car, pulling your coat a little closer around yourself as you cross the street, smiling as you eventually notice him half a block further down, leaning against the brick wall of another establishment, smoking.

Despite being a bit drunk, he’s still holding up his own pretty well, a lazy smile on his lips as he notices you walking towards him.

“Hey you,” It’s kind of ridiculous to think about this small amount of power he has over you, just standing there, looking as handsome as he does. Slightly rugged in his dark jeans and stance along the building. He tosses the cigarette to the ground and stubs it out, blowing smoke away from you as he turns to give you a once over.

Cheeks definitely turn pink but luckily you can blame that on being a bit cold.

“Have you uh,” You trail off a moment, motioning to the bar behind you, “Have you seen my boyfriend? He’s about your height, slightly built, dirty blonde curls, little bit of a mess,” You grin, “Very happy to see me?”

“Oh you’re taken?” Austin asks, a soft chuckle vibrating in his throat as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. His body is warm and slightly heavy, his balance not as it should be. You’re stable though, he’s not stumbling over, “He’s got to be pretty lucky.”

You chuckle as he brings his hands over to cup your cheeks, running his thumb along the bone. “I’d like to think so.”

Standing here with him in so intoxicating, the fluttering sensation in your stomach as he touches you, the warmth of his skin and the presence of his body, slightly taller than you as his eyes look down and drink you in. As he pulls you as close as he can, mapping his body along yours, the street seems to fade from view. Humming, you wrap your arms loosely around his trim waist, one arm slipping underneath the fabric of his shirt. He squirms just slightly as the cool night air kisses the skin of his back.

“Home?” You ask, tilting your head up.

Austin leans down to brush his lips over yours, playfully nipping at your lower lip with his own. “Home.”

Smiling, you wrap an arm around his waist, turning to walk towards the car. You definitely notice him leaning into you a little more than usual, his arm resting on your shoulders for balance. You don’t mind though, easily handling his weight on the way to the car, despite that his walking is a bit wobbly.

Pausing to unlock the passenger door, you stick the keys into your pocket before a soft laugh leaves your lips, “Too tall for your own good.” You tease, making sure to rest your hand along the crown of his head so that he leans down enough to get into the passenger seat without hurting himself.

“Did I mention…” He trails off, watching you with lazy blue eyes. Austin chews on his lower lip, resting his head back against the headrest as you lean over him to put his seatbelt on, “That you’re definitely gettin’ the girlfriend award?”

Smiling, you shake your head, pausing to run your eyes along his form. “Think you mentioned somethin’ like that, yeah.” You push yourself inside briefly to peck his lips, “And I already know it’s well deserved.”

Austin chuckles, stealing one more kiss before you close the door and take him home.

You’ve been drunk plenty of times around Austin and he’s always known the best ways to take care of you and that’s kinda what you’re thinking about now. Getting him into bed, making sure he has comfortable clothes on and that he’s drinking enough water—aspirin and a greasy breakfast when he wakes up.

Except, your boyfriend has other plans that involve getting a shower and…you really don’t have the energy or stamina to tell him how beyond ridiculous it is that he does this now. It doesn’t help that he’s decently taller than you and undressing faster than you can put clothes on him. Though, seems like a weird thing to complain about.

“You comin’ in with me?” Austin asks as he turns the shower on, waiting for the water to warm up.

He’s kinda straddling the tub, leaning against the wall, completely naked and far too gorgeous looking for his own good. You let out a soft sigh, stepping a bit closer, moving to run a hand through the tuft of hair along his forehead. You semi count the freckles on his skin, leaning down to press a kiss against one on his shoulder.

“I already showered,” You tell him, “And I think you assume if I get in this shower with you that you’re gettin’ something out of it. Which you are sorely mistaken,” A soft laugh flutters in your chest when he pouts, “You can barely stand straight.”

“I know exactly what I’m doin’,” His hand falls to your waist, squeezing, “And I want you in this shower with me.”

Admittedly, the desire in his voice slips right between your legs, instant heat. As he smiles down at you and playfully nips your lower lip with his own, you realize how much of a losing battle this is. Before you can move, Austin playfully tugs you forward and you almost end up in the shower and under the stream of water with all your clothes on.

“Austin,” You snap but you’re laughing, pushing him away so that you can undress.

With a dramatic sigh, you get into the shower with him, pulling the glass door closed. His lips are on yours in an instant, drawing you close and under the stream of water. Things are a bit haphazard but this is not the first time you’ve done this in this setting and when your hand slips down to touch your boyfriend, he’s already hard.

A moan leaves your lips and empties into his mouth, heat curling up inside of you and making your legs shake. Quick and a little desperate, needy, you kinda like it when it’s like this sometimes. When you’re not taking it slow or feeling every single movement of the other’s bodies. This in comparison is grabby, passionate, like you can’t quite get enough of one another fast enough.

Austin hooks your leg up, presses you against the shower wall, hands exploring and fingers opening you up, open-mouthed kisses on your throat, your pulse point, your heart thrumming in your eardrums. He slides in quick but always allows you a few moments to adjust, your forehead dipping to his shoulder, a deep breath in before you roll your hips up and into him.

It’s not the easiest in the shower, this place is definitely overrated when it comes to seeing it in films. But luckily there’s no slipping this time and Austin has a firm grasp on you, each thrust of his hips somehow utterly perfect. It doesn’t take long for either of you to reach a climax and suddenly you’re panting, the entire room rose-colored in the wake of your orgasm.

Austin eventually slides free from you and you hate how empty that always feels, chewing on your lower lip as he tips your head back with both of his hands on the sides of your face. He gives you a lazy smile, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, the bridge of your nose and the corner of your mouth—you can feel him mouthing the words I love you a few times.

A small smile stretches across your face and you close your eyes for a moment as he strokes your hair back, now wet underneath the stream of water. He reaches for a loofah, squeezing some shower gel onto it before beginning to drag it along your shoulders, arms, slow and lazy motions.

There’s a soft sound of amusement in your throat as you tip your head up and kiss him, drawing out these moments where you can get them. Ironically, despite not going out with him tonight, it still ended the same way.

And you’re definitely not going to complain about that.

Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #mas

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